Who out there has seen The Godfather? It is a movie famous for the mesmerising performance of Marlon Brando as Don Corleone. I was too young to view it when it was first released, but Mr Bingells and I attended a twenty-five year anniversary revival screening. Afterwards, we went for a glass of wine at the bar across the road from Hoyts in George Street, and talked about Brando's performance. I remember my words: 'Poetry in motion'.
There is a more notorious factor to this movie, and one often referenced in pop culture. Of course I'm referring to the scene where the movie producer Mr Woltz, having displeased Don Corleone by refusing to cast Corleone's godson in a movie, wakes up to find the severed head of his prize thoroughbred in the bed. The scene is horrifying in both the build up and climax. You feel the tension, the suspense, the fearful apprehension as Woltz slowly wakes up to the feeling something is not quite right. You bite your nails as he moves his bedclothes around and sits up, and then want to add your own horrified anguished screams to those of Woltz upon seeing the gruesome, grisy, gory obscenity.
Well, guess what? I had a scene like that of my own yesterday morning.
I woke up with trepidation. Something wasn't right. I just knew it. I didn't want to open my eyes, but knew I had to. I sat up slowly, engulfed in an oppressive shroud of fear and foreboding. I looked around, whereupon I discovered my mini fox terrier had left piles of solid, salmon coloured vomit all over my bedspread. My reaction didn't quite rival Mr Woltz in terms of volume and grief, but it was notable. Still, I suppose if you're going to find something disgusting on your bed, dog puke is preferable to a horse's head.
The torment did not finish there. I was still in my pyjamas, pondering the mountain of soiled bed linen I was to wash (Mr Bingells is away for a few days), when I was telephoned and asked could I cover a shift for a person who is sick (I wonder did that person chuck all over the bedspread, too?). I said I could, but would have to shake off the barfed-up bedspread in the back yard first.
It was necessary for me to travel to a nearby town, and I was assigned a vehicle. It was a bloody European model, and every time I when to turn a corner or diverge, I found myself turning on the windscreen wipers instead of the blinker. Also, what clapped-out engineer thought making the vehicle as complicated to start as a jet was a good idea? You, Sir or Madam, should be punched in the throat.
I had a doctor's appointment yesterday afternoon. I sat, and sat, and sat. Concerned, I texted the mother of the student I had arranged to tutor to advise I was held up. An hour after the scheduled appointment time, the doctor called me in. I found I had been scheduled for fifteen minutes, when I had specifically asked for a half hour. So I had to reschedule. 'Never mind, doc,' I said. 'My dog vomited all over my bed, so that clearly set the tone for my day today.'
The tutoring session was going well, when my mobile telephone sounded. I didn't answer it, but when my student set about working on the exercise I set him, I asked his family did they mind if I checked my phone; the call had come from my landline and given my kids were home alone, I wanted to make sure there was no blood or a burning house. They graciously said they didn't mind at all. My youngest answered, 'Hey, Mum. I just wanted to ask what's for dinner.' With disbelief and annoyance, I snapped, 'You rang me whilst I was tutoring to ask that? Could this have not waited? I'm not telling you. You can just wait until I get home, and unless the house is on fire, do not ring me when I'm working.' In the event you're on the edge of your seat wondering, we had a store-bought lasagne. The oldest was instructed to pop it in the oven at 6.00pm, and we would dine en famille when the youngest and I had returned home from his musical theatre class.
So, I was not rostered today. I have spent the day washing. If you're feeling sorry for me, and wondering how you can take away the pain of what was a total clusterfuck of a day yesterday, go to the links on the homepage of my blog and purchase my novels. I know that is a very gauche and childish form of manipulation, but guys, I had to shake great horrible globs and blobs of dog chuck from my bedspread yesterday, so cut me some slack here.
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